proteanme

I’ve been writing a butt load lately, and depending on who you are are that could be alot (which can be awfully nice) or maybe not so much. Maybe that was a bad stab at humor. Anyway I’m experimenting with some prose here. Trying to figure out how to use landscape to evoke longing and disappointment about love.

Baby let’s not end up like one of those busted down motels out on North Lamar, a couple low slung barracks facing each other, with the curtains drawn and the doors shut, all hollowed out on the inside and chipped and peeling on the front. A guy showed up once carrying around his amity in a couple plastic bags he fished out of the trash and I couldn’t stop thinking about what happens when the bottom falls out. We’re fooling ourselves if we think we’ve rigged up something better. Cause you can leave the TV on all day and all night, and you’re still going to pass her on the cross walk. She’ll say hello like it’s the nicest thing anyone has said to you all day, and then when she asks you for dollar, like you’re her best friend, it’s gonna break your heart.